


Topping from the Bottom

by Ringshadow



Series: Dynamic Factors [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU not AOS compliant, D/s, Dom/sub, It's apparently a series I write during dead time at work, M/M, guess what I thumbtapped this one too, pray for my joints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many ways for a sub to serve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Topping from the Bottom

Clint has, admittedly, put himself in this position. He volunteered. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass, not after carrying a torch for Phil for years. He finally had a chance to take care of his CO.

 

But damn if the situation wasn’t the sweetest torture he’d ever put himself through. He knows, very well that Phil just isn’t ready for actual sex. Their relationship is new, still in initial exploration and Phil’s still settling into his new dynamic. Not only that, the day had been trying, even for him and he’s just an observer.

 

Observer or not he’d tried to be a good dom around it so once they’re out of Fiddler’s Green he just lets Phil talk as he drives them to dinner. He’s still not sure how to feel about Phil’s concern about Ward and Rumlow. Honestly in Clint’s eyes they’re poison, no redemption to be had and he’d have shot them without remorse during SHIELD’s collapse. But Phil was trying to push new procedures on prisoner treatment and he was willing to support that.

 

Trying to find high moral ground. Or just create it from scratch perhaps.

 

They both felt better after they had eaten, and neither had been up for going out after. They’d been driving back to the hotel when he’d breached the idea of doing a scene together. Phil had been up for it immediately and they discussed the particulars. Phil had admitted reluctantly that he wasn’t ready for sex yet, not penetration anyway. But hands, fine. He felt safe when Clint touched him.

 

That was an honor and even more so when Phil agreed to (most of) Clint’s current favorite dirty fantasy. Leather cuffs and impact play.

 

Clint has very rarely had to red or yellow light a scene. He likes to think he’s in better control than that. But he’s tempted now, because Phil is so gorgeous its shaking his resolve. It’s interesting, really, that someone previously so dominant would end up being so graceful and trusting in his submission.

 

Phil had been nervous enough that he didn’t want to lie down, so he was knelt on a cushion at the end of the bed, cuffed hands clipped to a ring on the footboard. At first Clint had just used his hands, ran them all over that beautiful bare skin until Phil had slowly relaxed and bowed his head, swaying into the contact, already drifting in subspace. He wasn’t down deep though, and Clint had worried the first thud of leather across his shoulders would put him into a drop.

 

No, though that would have made it easy.

 

He likes to think he’s prepared. A dom that plans and has contingencies. That he’s actually good at his dynamic (not everyone is after all). But this? He hadn’t expected at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil hadn’t exactly expected it either. He’d just sorely needed to give control up for the night and Clint is his dom, though they haven’t quite put it in those terms yet. Clint has had him kneel many times now, bound his hands a few times. They have kissed and it’s getting more frequent as they both are seeming to get used to the idea that they even can.

 

Being nude with Clint in the room isn’t even new, but the context gives it a surprising charge. He’d been mostly in subspace by the time he’s kneeling and the hands running over him, grounding him lets him fall the rest of the way and stop worrying that he’s going to be hit. Be beaten, really.

 

He’s done this before of course but never from this end of the equation. He’s not sure it’s his kink in this dynamic and had warned Clint he might redlight quickly if he comes to that conclusion.

 

The leather strap, a belt really with the metal in Clint’s palm, just rested on his back for several long moments before it was removed. It did make a noise as it swung, a low whistle or zip then it connected across his upper back, shoulder blade to shoulder blade, perfectly horizontal. It was like a bolt of lightning, a shock to his nerves that made him gasp and his eyes go wide before the warm pain followed through his muscles like thunder.

 

Subspace for Phil did tend to let everything else fade to the edges, make his stress and worry distant. The impact on the leather on this back brought him sharply to the moment, to the point where there was nothing else, just Clint’s steady presence and this new ache still echoing through him.

 

Clint’s hand stirred over his hair, and he was able to gasp out ‘green’ because he needs to analyze this, needs to stay in this moment.

 

After the third blow, those concepts got shelved too, and he’s somewhere deep and warm, the ache in his shoulders letting him know he’s alive and safe.

 

He comes up slowly to Clint’s voice, warm and tender and firm, and hands sliding over his arms to his shoulders. He leaned into the attention and got to his feet when urged, opening his eyes to look at Clint.

 

He’s loose limbed and orgasm dopey, completely wrung out, his back a livewire of aches but that’s fine. Clint is sweaty and grinning at him, helping steady him. “You back with me?”

 

“Yeah. I’m up.” He agreed. “I don’t want to say I blacked out exactly but...”

 

“No. You were down deep, though. You responded every time I asked for a traffic light.”

 

He nodded in a mellow way, rolling a shoulder. “You’re good. It all aches but there’s no sharp pain.”

 

Clint shrugged. “We aren’t as young as we once were and we have nothing to prove to anyone. No reason to push that hard. You took a lot for a first timer.”

 

“..did I come?” Phil’s almost embarrassed to ask.

 

He laughed and kissed him, quick and firm. “Twice. You came hands free under the belt then under the crop. You are fucking amazing.” When Phil just stared at him blushing, he pulled Phil gently to the hotel room’s full length mirror and put his back to it so Phil could look over his shoulder.

 

Clint had kept it to Phil’s upper back. He’d been very careful with his blows, so the belt marks are horizontal stripes, laid down consistently so it almost seemed like one large bruise. Then, across that in diagonal diamonds, where darker crop marks.

 

“Holy shit.” Phil said after a beat, stunned.

 

Clint kissed his temple. “Let’s get you through the shower. I have some salve to put on those and some ice packs, and some schlocky action movies for you to watch.”

 

Phil turned his head to kiss Clint properly. “Thank you.”

 

“Happy to serve you. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil had only been in the shower a few moments when the feeling crawls through him, a slow enough mood shift he notices. Clint was holding him, trying to keep him grounded but it wasn’t enough. “I’m dropping.” He said, one hand grasping at Clint’s back.

 

“Shit. Okay.” Clint was startled, a little, but shifted them. The hotel shower was large enough to have a tiled bench and he sat Phil on it and knelt in front of him, taking his hands. “Talk to me.”

 

“It.. isn’t that easy, I don’t...” His lip curled at how hesitant his voice sounds. “Identity. Self-identity problem.”

 

Clint blinked, then shifted to cup one of Phil’s cheeks. “Not equating masochism with who you were.”

 

“I’m out of body. This isn’t me.” Phil made a helpless, distressed noise. “There are things I loved in subs. I adored my combat ready subs I fostered. I always admired it when someone so strong let themselves bend to my will. To trust me. But...”

 

“You never wanted to see that in yourself.” Clint said evenly. “Phil. You are not out of body. You’re changing. If you never want to do this again, we don’t.”

 

“I’m scared that I do!” His angry loud words may as well have been a shout in the hotel shower. “Everything in my life is a contradiction. How can I serve you if I’m in command?”

 

He rocked back on his heels, staring at Phil in shock before moving. He ended up straddling the bench over him, hugging Phil to his chest tucked under his chin. “You serve all of us. Everyone that’s left at SHIELD, all the Avengers. You serve us.” When Phil just made a little derisive noise of disagreement, he sighed. “Yes, you are in command. You’re Acting Director. But in the fallout of everything you are the only reason there is even a SHIELD left. You’re the one making sure our paychecks cash and we’re protected from the law and that we’re all somewhere safe, as safe as we can be. You serve us and you carry more weight and more scrutiny to do it. You are a shield. You protect us all.”

 

There was silence as shock went through Phil, his fingers digging into Clint’s back, then he’s sobbing soft and scared as he trembled in Clint’s arms.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Phil was dry and on the hotel bed, sheets pulled up to his waist as Clint sat next to him. The news was on low, a background drone, and Phil was trying to pull himself together enough to talk about what had happened. Clint’s hand rubbing gently over his bruised back, even if the salve was long rubbed in, was keeping him quiet and still, not in subspace, but out of subdrop.

 

Then he heard the TV say SHIELD and he made the effort to turn his head enough to see the TV, groaning when he saw who it was. “Putting it on Jerry Springer will rot our brains less.”

 

Clint gave him an apologetic look but picked up the remote to change the channel, going still though when the talking head said Phil’s name and title. So he turned it up instead, slightly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed closest to the TV.

 

“.. still a total unknown. Next to no information has been put out about this guy and our people have been combing the information dump for something, anything! We found next to nothing. The Black Widow’s file is public and this guy’s isn’t?!”

 

“Well for someone to be given command you have to imagine he’s a company man. The name we have might be a recent identity. His original might be gone.” Replied a new voice, a guest Phil thought. He only groaned and buried his face in one of his arms. “We know he’s in control and that he wrote the report released.”

 

“Supposedly wrote, I don’t believe it. Look, the majority of the organization was dirty, rotten to the core and this suit with a badge and a shiny new promotion expects us to believe otherwise. We don’t even know his dynamic!”

 

“You can memorize his face as much as you want. I’m not going to let you kill him.” Phil murmured.

 

“I’ve been good.” Clint replied in a near monotone.

 

Phil didn’t have to look to know he had his murderface on. “No, Hawkeye. If you killed all the idiots in the news they’d just hire new ones to complain just about you. Now please shut that shit off.”

 

He did then moved to lay next to Phil, looking at him. “Do you feel any better?”

 

He had to consider. “Yes. Less unsteady. I am so sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

 

“I pushed too far is what happened.” He swallowed roughly. “I knew how little experience you had, but you were just so gorgeous I just kept pushing.”

 

“I kept greenlighting.” Phil pointed out.

 

“I still should have realized. I’m sorry.”

 

He huffed and opened his eyes again before catching Clint’s near hand, lacing their fingers. “We’re both sorry then. Where do we go from here?”

 

“You need to talk to me more. Tell me what’s happening in your head. I know you’re keeping it to yourself.”

 

Phil was quiet for a moment, sweeping his thumb back and forth on Clint’s fingers. “The nausea has mostly passed, and the aches. Medical says my levels are low but normalized. But it’s all working against five decades of being a dom.”

 

“I think you’ve been adapting very well. You have changed, I won’t lie.” Seeing Phil’s look of hurt, he sighed and shifted to cup Phil’s cheek with his free hand. “We all changed. You have more reason than almost any of us. I didn’t say you changed in a bad way.” He rolled them both, laying on Phil and looking down at him. “I have loved you for a very long time. I am telling you, you are the same person I fell in love with. You went through horrible things, but in spite of that... you’re smiling more, now. You let it show.”

 

Phil made a little helpless noise. Clint’s weight is reassuring, and it feels like he’s blocking out the world to keep Phil safe. “I just felt like I knew myself. Was certain about who I was. Now I’m not so certain and I hate that uncertainty. I don’t have time to worry about it.”

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“Yes.” No need to even think about that.

 

“Then let me worry about it. If I think you’re slipping off keel, I’ll tell you.”

 

Phil snorted. “What was today if not off keel?”

 

“Today a young sub had some uncertainty about his being a painslut.”

 

He let out a little choked laugh. “Fuck you Barton.”

 

“Wish you would, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s glad to be back honestly. He’s still not exactly fond of SHIELD residing in Avengers Tower, but he know that they’re as safe as they can get in this world.

 

He’s dressed for work as he scans in through their security door, Clint scanning in behind him, and he’s not surprised that there are multiple agents waiting for him. He signed some forms and accepted a file, looking inquiringly at May and Skye.

 

“Well?” May asked.

 

“... how is he?” Skye asked at the same time.

 

“Fucked up on what might be a permanent basis. Resisting treatment, on edge. A bit unkempt.” Phil said, talking while he walked, Clint in step next to him. “Didn’t have much to say to me. Keenly misses you, Skye. He accepted the bracers.”

 

“Figures.” She grumbled.

 

“Visiting him will give him hope. Don’t visit unless you can handle that. To him you are his dom. Means you don’t have to do much to break him further.”

 

“God, AC, I’m not an idiot.”

 

“I know.” Phil eye scanned into his office. “Which is why I want your personal advice on something else.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” She followed him in after Clint stepped in, May hovering at the doorway.

 

“Given your previous gig, you’re probably somewhat familiar with the news media. I think I need to give an interview or two. I trust your judgment on who I should give that interview to.” He lifted an eyebrow slightly at her. “Don’t throw me to the wolves.”

 

“John Stewart.” She replied immediately. “And you might consider Rachel Maddow.”

 

Phil rolled that over in his head. “Okay. Do me a favor and set it up for me.”

 

“What? You really think I know how to...”

 

“No. But Jarvis does. Pepper Potts does. Have fun with it. Give them my phone and email if you have to. I’m sick of the news treating me like some only slightly less creepy version of Slenderman.”

 

She snorted and left his office.

 

“Interviews? Are you sure that’s wise?” May asked.

 

“No. But if they can secure these things for presidents and such I’m sure we can secure it enough for me. Also it’s a good chance to air some things out. I know there are a lot of questions about the report. What was the impact of that?”

 

“I think the technotaku were monitoring online response, I’ll ask them to pass their findings on.”

 

“Thank you May.” Phil sat behind his desk, glancing at Clint after she was gone. “You disapprove?”

 

“No. But I will be right there with you. Just backstage, in full gear.”

 

“I’m fine with that.” He started his workstation and watched it load in about five seconds, the tickers starting immediately. “Going to be a long day, Barton.”

 

“Most of them are.”

 

* * *

 

 

Most of the intel comes to Phil at some point, after it’s been analyzed and double checked. Sometimes he asks for raw data, sometimes he doesn’t. It’s become a rapid-fire shuffle, the display Tony built for him invaluable as he uses its dynamics to basically throw files to people. In reality only a small amount of what he’s sent can be acted on immediately.

 

He’s got maybe a dozen combat ready teams in New York right now, all pretty spare. He’d nearly restructured them down to eight but the teams were resistant to the change. They may be skeleton crews, but they’ve gotten this far. They’re the human personification of his poor resources issue, so he has to be careful what problems they actually go active against, and when they do they’re calling all other agencies potentially in the area.

 

Transparency, even with other intelligence and law enforcement agencies, is a good start. Not to say he trusts them with details. Abstracts, yes, especially when civilians might be in danger.

 

So he clears two teams to look into possible locations of escaped prisoners from the breakout. He has another waiting for permission to enter Great Britain to assist with what might be a HYDRA cell trying to get ground there (their international authority is currently shit, except in Australia, Japan, and Russia, probably because SHIELD is the only group willing to help with the weird shit particular to those places).

 

He authorizes research into emergency treatments to counter shit AIM has been using in combat as well as gave the thumbs-up to something Dr. Banner is working on that might temporarily parilyze Centipede soldiers (and possibly the AIM ones as well). He also gives the thumbs-up to a public website that Jarvis and the technotaku have put together for him that will basically let civilians peek in on what they’re up to, again mostly in abstract. There’s only so much they can say that won’t put their people in danger.

 

He put the word out to the proper administration personnel that he needs to hold a press conference. They guarantee they can get reporters from everywhere in three hours. He agrees to that time window.

 

And is late to that time conference because some asshole decides to fuck with the White House by bringing a four year old on the tour then provoking it into a tantrum. Assholeish enough, except this four year old’s tantrum involves acid that, at the very least, calls for new carpet, new suits for several secret service, low level chemical burns on those secret service, and several ruined priceless antiques.

 

So yeah, he’s twenty minutes late, but he’s trailing Captain America who is toting a mostly calmed embarrassed preschooler.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late, everyone. Small announcement to start, if you are the parents to this adorable disaster, we’ll be giving appropriate contact information at the end of this press conference. Also if you use an xgene child to your own goals, Captain America will happily punch you in the face.”

 

“With my shield.” Steve agreed, deadpan.

 

“And that will be the start of your woes. Take her upstairs, will you please?”

 

The press, for their part, is somewhere between amused and nonplussed and stays quiet until the Captain takes the kid away, asking her if she wants to play with his legos (of which he has many). Once the door shuts behind them, the press looks back to Phil, and is further thrown by the fact that he’s moved the podium in favor of sitting on a barstool, contemplating them all.

 

“Let’s just keep it orderly. I’m not going to respond to a shouting crowd. So hands up to ask a question, I’ll call on you one at a time and try to make sure I’m fair about it. Understood?” Hands shot up and he looked around before pointing to indicate his choice.

 

He’d been expecting the questions to start with the released report regarding human experimentation, but the first reporter asked to know more about him.

 

“Fifty, male, New York.” He deadpanned, and got some snickers. “I’m what could be called a company man. I joined SHIELD right out of High School and went into Operations. I promoted through the ranks. Before HYDRA reared its ugly heads, I oversaw field operations and I was the main liaison to some of the individuals that would become the Avengers. With most of command dead, questionable or out of commission, I was literally one of the last high ranking Agents standing that didn’t bail for private sector.”

 

“What is your intention for the Agency moving forward?”

 

“Do what we are supposed to do: protect the public from unusual threats. A public that includes individuals with non-standard abilities, by the way. I have no intention to pick on people with the xgene or otherwise acquired talents. They’ve probably got enough problems without worrying about me.”

 

“Are you hiring?” The question brought a wave of laughter that went quiet again at Phil’s expression.

 

Because he was smiling, just a bit. “Not yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the conference shifted wildly from the report to recent events and back, and Phil bore it all with as much patience as he could muster. In the end he gave them two hours of his time for Q&A before calling it to a close and retreating upstairs. He bypassed the SHIELD floors entirely for the rumpus room, pulling his tie and taking off his suit jacket as he walked in.

 

The acid-bearing xgene kid was sitting on the floor at the coffee table. Tony was sitting across from her. Both had their arms folded on the edge of the table and deathly serious expressions, a chessboard laid out between them.

 

“You taught a four year old chess?” Phil wanted to know after he hung his jacket up and put his weapons in a lockbox by the coat rack.

 

“She’s winning.” Steve replied, amused, walking over and helping Phil out of his shoulder holster.

 

“Is he letting her win?”

 

“No. We taught her the basic rules and she became a tiny terror. Bruce beat her once.”

 

“So we’ve acquired a chess savant preschooler that cries acid.” Phil rubbed his eyes.

 

“I’ve never seen Secret Service look so lost as they were today. The White House wants to know if they should put a training program together on dealing with weaponized children. Want some hot chocolate?”

 

“I’d love some.” He followed Steve to the kitchen. “I’ll come up with something. We might want to hook them up with icers.”

 

“Oh that reminds me. How do you feel about selling icers to the cops?” Tony asked, eyes on the chess board.

 

“I think cops have enough problems with using excessive force without having two firearms that feel similar in the hand. I don’t want to be indirectly responsible for some cop killing someone when they meant to draw an icer.”

 

“I meant instead of guns. Lock the guns in the trunk for extreme emergencies, have icers as daily carry.”

 

Phil leaned out of the kitchen. “I like it but can we sell it?”

 

“Trust me.”

 

“The gaaaame. It’s your tuuurn.” The girl whined, waving one hand at Tony until his eyes went back to the board.

 

“I like the idea, but cops might not.” Steve told Phil, stirring slowly heating milk on the stove.

 

“Can I ask you a dynamic related question?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Do you ever have problems with your position of authority clashing with your dynamic?”

 

Steve looked at him curiously, eyes searching his face. “Sometimes. Just keep in mind, there are many ways to serve.”

 

“.. Clint told me I’m serving everyone, being in the position I am.”

 

“You are. And as one sub to another, you’re good at it.”

 

Phil wasn’t prepared for the little frission of pleasure that went through him in response to that. “Thank you.”

 

“Could you pass me the nutella?” He was measuring cocoa powder and sugar meticulously.

 

“I can.”

 

Ten minutes later they were sitting and drinking the cocoa, having also given mugs to Tony and the four year old (who also got some animal crackers).

 

“So what do you prefer we call you?” Phil asked the kid seriously.

 

She contemplated a cracker before looking up. “Can I be Rarity?”

 

“That’s a My Little Pony.” Tony replied.

 

Phil considered. “I don’t see why not. We will need your real name eventually though.” She made a face at him.

 

The elevator opened, Clint coming out in casual wear with his bow and quiver. He hung them on the coat rack, considering the scene. “Is there cocoa left?”

 

“In the kitchen.” Phil stood and left his mug for the moment, going there to pour Clint the last mug without really thinking about it. So it was a bit of a surprise when Clint was abruptly there, kissing his temple.

 

“Good boy.” He murmured, watching Phil blush brilliantly.

 

“It’s just cocoa. And Steve made it.” He muttered, handing Clint the mug and setting about washing the pot.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

He considered that before looking at Clint seriously. “Yes. I think I do.”


End file.
